I've won the race.
Young man, I'm new!
Old Sallow-face
Good luck to you!
I've turned about,
And paid for sin.
And you come out,
As I go in.
Ten years! but mark,
I am free, free!
Ten years of dark
Shall gather me.
My wife long-while
She wept her pain.
She cannot smile;
She weeps again.
My little one
Shall know my call.
Child is there none
For sin grows tall.
Now who are you,
Spar of hell's flood?
And who, and who,
But your own blood?
" My little one Shall know my call Child is there none For sin grows tall" Great conceptualization.
Free at last! ! ! ! ! Freedom! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A beautiful poem so nicely executed. Interesting to read.
The interchange of voices on the jail steps tells of the misery of confinement and the challenge, when the time comes to be free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In Jail Oh ho ho no bail till decaying of Sin have to live in this bin dark and insects sin decaying facts! weeping wife growing child make all strife give a knife find the blood goes on forgetting life